


Checkout

by Mangosherbet



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, Peterick, awkward first meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5486174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangosherbet/pseuds/Mangosherbet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe drags Pete along to Office Depot to pick up some stuff for work. Pete unexpectedly picks up something of his own.</p>
<p>Aka, the fic where Pete and Patrick first meet in an office supply store.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkout

**Author's Note:**

> My friend talked me into posting this mess. Based a similar incident that occurred when I went with my sister to Office Depot. (I wasn't as lucky, though.)

Pete hates office supply stores. 

They’re the epitome of “mid-income, working class,” and he’s pretty sure that the highlight of some customer’s day is going “wild” and picking out pink heart sticky notes, instead of those pale, piss-yellow ones. Drab suburban decay infects each inch of the store. Binders. Printer ink. Desk chairs. $50 gold plated pens that only assholes in suits buy. Office supply stores bore Pete almost as much as actual offices.

What Pete doesn’t hate is Joe, who bribed him with the promise of pizza to accompany him into the cesspool that is Office Depot. It helps that the second Pete pretends to open the sliding doors with The Force, an auburn haired guy that catches Pete’s eye.

He’s got dark rimmed glasses perched on his nose, along with a black fedora on his head. But the highlight, Pete thinks, is 100% the David Bowie shirt the guy’s rocking.

Pete watches him glance over some USB drives, walking past him to follow Joe to the binders. Pete wishes he would’ve worn sunglasses. Then he could’ve stared at Bowie Shirt without looking like a creep. Sure, he’d look like an asshole with them on in the store, but Joe said he looked that way without them, too.

Bowie Shirt Guy turns the corner to the laptops aisle, and Pete watches him vanish from sight behind the shelves. Screw that guy for being short, but screw Pete too for not being taller to see over them.

They make it to the binders and Joe browses through them, Pete rocking back on forth on his toes, craning his neck.

"Where do you think the dude in Bowie shirt went? I wasn't done looking at him." Pete scrunches up his face in disappointment as he does his best to scan the aisles without jumping.

"Hell if I know." Joe thumbs out a black binder. "You should ask a sales associate." Joe mimics an intercom voice, "Can the gentleman in the David Bowie tee please make his way to checkout? Because my friend would like to check-you-out!" Joe winks and pistols his fingers at his Pete.

"I could be one of those irritable soccer moms." Pete turns to Joe, juts out his hip, and jabs a finger at the imaginary store associate in front of him. In a falsetto voice he complains, "Um, excuse me, but I wasn't done looking at the merchandise!" He purses his lips in mock annoyance, and grins, but Joe's eyes are fixed on something behind Pete.

"Uh, dude?" Joe's blue eyes flick from Pete to whatever— or whoever —is behind him. Probably a ticked off worker or something.

Pete whirls around and avoids head-butting Bowie Shirt Guy by a few centimeters. Part of him wishes he did, because his joke has clearly done a 180 and has smacked any chance Pete had with this guy straight outta the air. Though Joe would argue he never had a chance to begin with. At least a concussion could’ve knocked him unconscious.

A twin blush creeps across Bowie Guy’s face and Pete’s, the latter unable to tell if the guy is angry or embarrassed. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was both.

"This is like those State Farm commercials. But instead of singing the jingle we made bad jokes." Joe nods like he’s agreeing with himself.

"J-Joe!" Pete sputters. Joe shrugs and excuses himself to the next aisle.

If Pete didn't knock his chances outta the park, Joe sure did, neither of them homeruns, but it's exactly what Pete wants to do. Run the fuck home.

He grapples for smooth explanation. "I, I didn't mean you're an object, it was a joke, I jus—" 

"Wanted to keep looking at me?" The guy arches a thin eyebrow, and adjusts his glasses. Pete feels blessed and terrified, because this guy is a total _angel_ up close. His lips are petal pink and seem just as soft, blue-green eyes snaring Pete in their crosshairs. 

The guy crosses his arm and tilts his chin up. Pete's got a good two or three inches on him, but he shrinks under the guy’s accusing expression.

"I...yeah." Pete scratches the back of his neck and god is it hot in here or is it this guy’s presence? "S-sorry." The apology is shaky in descent. Is that a thing? Saying, "I'm sorry, you're just so stunning, but if you were for sale I would snap you up in a heartbeat?"

Pete doubts it. Plus he's positive the guy would deck him for it.

Luckily, the guy scoffs and sticks out his hand. "Patrick."

"What?" Pete blanks. How has he not been punched yet?

"My name’s Patrick."

"Oh." Pete blinks, shakes Patrick's hand, cautious. Shell-shocked. "I'm Pete."

"Pete, huh?" Patrick hums, tasting the name. It reminds Pete of those 80's movies where the girls smack their gum and twirl their hair while they size up their prey. Pete nervously licks his lips. Was he prey? Did he _want_ to be prey?

Patrick holds out a hand and beckons with a finger, "Give me your phone."

Pete furrows his brows together. "Why?"

Patrick rolls those beautiful eyes of his. "Just do it, dumbass." (How could Pete deny those eyes?)

Pete obeys, and Patrick gives a curt smile as a thank you. He dials a number, and suddenly a Prince song is coming from Patrick's own pocket.

"My number is your most recent call." He explains, and Pete can see a ghost of a smirk on those gorgeous lips. "Maybe call, when your brain starts working again." Patrick's pale hand brushes a strand of hair from his face. "If it was ever working in the first place." He pivots and walks off, hips swaying subtly. 

Pete stares. If you asked him if he had shame about it, he'd say the only shameful thing about it is that he’s never seen it until now.

Pete can't do what Patrick suggested. There's no way his brain is gonna be fully functional for the next 24 hours, and there's no way he can let Patrick sashay off. He takes his phone, pressing Patrick's number and listening to Prince mix with Patrick's laugh: "Pace yourself, asshole!"

Pete thinks it's the start of a beautiful relationship.

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, I wrote this while eating dinner at Chili's and I liked it enough to post it.


End file.
